


Hit Me With Your Best Shot

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A ton of musical references, First Kiss, He's broken, Less awkward and more babbly, M/M, Marcy Playground breaks Derek, My pandora playlist lemme show you it, and awkward, stiles being awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' life should just be one long musical score of Pat Benatar songs. </p><p>Or</p><p>Where I was listening to Pandora while cleaning and the thought of Derek catching Stiles shaking his ass to really loud music while cleaning house was too perfect to pass up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Leela for the beta. And the motivation. :D
> 
> For those following Badly Timed Boners, this fic will not interrupt my posting schedule for that one in any way. It was just a fun little bit of crack to write while waiting.

Stepping out of the Camaro two streets down from Stiles' house, Derek heard faint strains of some sort of classic rock echoing in the distance. By the time he jogged up to Stiles' house, the entire place was pulsing with music. Yes' _Fragile_ was winding down as he climbed onto the roof and hoisted himself through Stiles' open bedroom window. 

Realizing it would be pointless to call out for Stiles with the piercing volume of the final guitar riff blasting through the house, he went in search of him instead. As he stepped off the bottom stair, he heard a familiar-ish tune starting up and turned the corner to see Stiles standing in the kitchen.

Stiles was shirtless, his silky basketball shorts riding so low on his hips that the dimples at the base of his spine were clearly visible. He leaned hard on a scrubbing pad, working at a stubborn stain on the stove. The kitchen towel flung over one shoulder swayed as his whole body shimmied to the song.

"You're a real tough cookie with a long history of breaking little hearts like the one in me!"

Derek stepped back, biting into his bottom lip to quell the surprised burst of laughter that threatened to overtake him. Stiles was really getting into the song, even though it was obvious he only knew some of the words. 

"La da da da da, let's get down to it. Something something something, you know you can do it...Hit me with your best shot! Da dun da dun! Why don't you hit me with your best shot? Dun nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuuuh. Hit me with your best shot...fire away!"

Pulling the towel off his shoulder, Stiles twirled it in the air as he spun around, his eyes squeezed closed as he belted out really bad, off key, often completely wrong lyrics. Derek crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall, and let his grin have free rein over his face. Watching an unaware Stiles dance around his kitchen was far more entertaining than asking him to find information on the possibility of the existence of Mountain Trolls.

"Yeah, you're a real tough werewolf with a long history..."

Wait, what?

"Of breaking little hearts like the one in me!"

Uhh?

Hands dropping to his sides uncertainly, Derek tip-toed toward the stairs and snuck his way back upstairs and out Stiles' bedroom window. Sitting on the roof, he waited through three songs—Back in Black, Piano Man, and Paradise City—before he jumped down and went to ring the doorbell between tracks. Tom Petty was beginning to sing about Runnin' Down a Dream when a flushed and sweaty Stiles pulled the door open, his mouth parting in surprise at seeing Derek standing on his front stoop.

"Derek?"

"Stiles."

Stiles stood in the doorway, eyes blinking with a soft, sort of unfocused expression on his face.

"Are you gonna let me in or...?"

"What?" Then Stiles started flailing and jerked the door open wider while stumbling backward. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, just...didn't realize you knew what doors were for." A fleeting grin touched Stiles' lips before he cast his gaze down at himself and grimaced. "Ugh, sorry, you caught me in the middle of cleaning." Wiping at a spot of something black on the skin over his lowest ribs, Stiles made a noise when it just smeared in a sticky streak across his belly. "We don't need to go fight the forces of evil right now, do we?"

Derek bit back a smile. "Nope. Just stopped to find out if the bestiary mentions Mountain Trolls."

Stiles stopped scrubbing at his stomach, where he'd already raised a red mark under the stubborn black smear, and stared at Derek with a flat look. "Like 'there's a troll in the dungeons' Mountain Troll? Is that seriously something we need to worry about?"

Shrugging, Derek opened his mouth just as The Clash started up, somehow managing to be infinitely louder as they sang about staying or going than Petty had ever hoped to be. Rolling his eyes, Stiles made a 'follow me' gesture and went into the living room, where he picked up a remote and pressed pause on the Pandora station that was playing through his DVD player. Which, huh. Derek had expected an iPod playlist or something.

"So. Mountain Trolls?"

"Yeah, no, Isaac was watching Harry Potter and it seemed like a thing we should check out because—"

"Harpies and leprechauns and fucking pixies. Yeah, makes sense. Let me just throw the laundry in the dryer, and we'll go upstairs and check."

Derek shifted to the side to let him pass, then followed Stiles into a smallish laundry room off the kitchen. The sudden quiet hush that had fallen over the house with the absence of the blaring rock set Derek on edge, so he focused on the only thing of interest in the room. Stiles.

Who was buried elbow deep in the washer, tugging on a wet towel that had wrapped itself around the agitator. As he pulled, his arm and back muscles flexed, his ass twitching under the thin shorts and...whoa. They stuck to his sweat-dampened skin, highlighting the lack of any underwear. Derek let out a short puff of air, eyes darting to the ceiling and staying there because _Jesus._

Stiles might be legal—barely—but Derek did _not_ need these sudden, distracting thoughts. Not when his life was already starting to look like bad Harry Potter fanfiction.

And really, it was all Stiles' fault that Derek even knew what fanfiction _was_ , so. Therapy. Derek clearly needed it now, and since it was Stiles' fault, he should be paying for it. Or, at least, fifty percent of it. Fucking Kate Argent was responsible for the rest.

Thinking about that, Derek lowered Stiles' percentage of the bill to about two percent because, yeah. Kate.

And then he realized his inner monologue sounded like something Stiles would be babbling so he considered finding one of the Sheriff's guns to shoot himself with, because. Just. His _life_.

"Okay, what?" Stiles' voice pulled Derek's attention back to him, and he saw Stiles looking up, staring at the spot Derek had been focused on, the long line of his throat exposed to Derek, who was so fucking done. "What's wrong with the ceiling, man? You were...oh shit. Is someone upstairs? Did someone break into my house? Did you hear someone above us? That's my dad's room—" 

Sometime between Stiles crossing the space between them to grab Derek's shirt in a panicked grip and the end of his little diatribe, Derek managed to lose his mind. It was the only possible explanation for him cutting off Stiles' frantic flow of words with his _mouth_. Or, really, if it had been anyone else, it would have cut off their words. Stiles was still talking, _somehow_ , even though Derek's traitorous tongue had slipped past his ridiculously toothpaste-ad-perfect teeth while Stiles mumbled muffled words against his lips.

It was seriously the worst kiss ever.

But then Stiles went sort of boneless against him, hands relinquishing their death grip on Derek's shirt to slide up his chest and around the back of his neck, cupping the back of his head, fingers sliding into his hair and thumbs grazing his ears. Stiles had left off speaking in favor of making erotic little whimpering moans and...

Derek was well and truly fucked. Might as well enjoy himself, in that case. Whatever poor life decisions had led him here, he was not leaving without grabbing a handful of that ass or tasting that ridiculously long neck.

Like a goddamn swan's or something.

Since they were pretty much the same height, the simple act of getting a good grip on Stiles' ass shifted Stiles’ body up enough to break the kiss. Derek took that opportunity to set his teeth into Stiles' neck and, yeah, benefits of being a beta, holy shit. He could finally do this again without freaking out over accidentally turning a human.

Somewhere above him, Stiles was licking the tip of his ear— _hnngh_ —and muttering, "Fuckfuckfuckfuck, Derek, _Jesus_ , finally, oh my god, yes, fuck," as he rocked his...hips. (Derek was only going to think about Stiles' hips because allowing his brain to linger for even a second on the hard cock he could feel rubbing rhythmically against his abs was just asking for come-stained pants, and he wasn't a teenager anymore, dammit.) As for what Stiles was saying, there might have been some other words in there too, but Derek was too busy listening for any sign that said stop, or even hinted at confusion.

Apparently Derek was the only one with any lingering confusion here, because Stiles was quite vocally _all_ on board with laundry room fun times. Or something.

And then the front door slammed shut, and Derek dropped Stiles. On his ass, on the tile floor, because that's the kind of smooth Derek was. 

"Stiles?"

It was the Sheriff. Of course it was. Derek could hear the canned laugh track in his head. Somewhere out there in the universe, someone was having way too much fun fucking over Derek's life.

"Uh. Yeah, Dad. Doing laundry. Just...gimme a sex. Sec! I mean! Just." Stiles stared up at Derek, who instantly decided to take his mental anguish out on the laundry room ceiling again. 

"Derek?" Stiles' whisper broke the thick tension between them just before Marcy Playground began blaring through the house.

Derek backed up to the wall and slid down it to land on a pile of towels, letting a small, helpless laugh break free. Sex and Candy. Yep, of course.

Stiles shifted to his knees, then winced, rubbed his ass for a second, and crawled toward Derek, stopping _on his hands and knees_ just between Derek's spread legs. "Hey. Did I break you?"

Derek stared into Stiles' worried expression and just...let it go. Because even if the universe was treating his life as a stupid slapstick romcom, at least it was no longer a tragedy. 

Reaching out, he cupped Stiles' jaw, rubbing his thumb over Stiles' reddened, plump bottom lip. "Yeah. It's okay, though. Pretty sure I needed it."

"Boys."

Derek rolled his head against the wall, looking up at the Sheriff, who was standing in the doorway, staring at them with dawning horror on his face. "Hey, sir. I kissed Stiles." Because what the hell, why not get himself shot in the face? 

"I kissed you back." And really, only Stiles could possibly sound that petulant while trying to protect Derek from his father's wrath.

"Are you gonna shoot me?" Derek asked the Sheriff, deciding to ignore Stiles for the moment.

"Do I need to?"

Derek just continued to stare up at him, beyond the capability for higher brain function considering Stiles was _licking his thumb._

Finally, the Sheriff blinked, dragged a hand down his face and said, "No, I'm not going to shoot you."

"Okay. Then I'm going to take Stiles to the movies tonight—"

"Nothing's really playing—"

Talking over Stiles, Derek said, "And I'll probably kiss him again. After."

"Are you asking my permission?"

Derek thought about that. It took longer to consider than it should have, probably because Stiles was chattering away in the background about release dates for upcoming movies. With a sigh, he shifted his hand from Stiles' jaw to push his palm against Stiles' mouth and said, "I think more just...letting you know."

The Sheriff stared at where Stiles was muttering darkly behind Derek's hand and said, "Are you sure about this, son?" When Stiles pulled Derek's hand away from his mouth to reply, the Sheriff shook his head. "Not you, Stiles. Derek."

"I have no idea, but..." Derek pushed himself up, looking down at a very disgruntled Stiles. "Pretty sure it can't be worse than Mountain Trolls." Stepping around the Sheriff, Derek murmured, "See you at six, Stiles."

"'Can't be _worse_ '?! I am _way_ better than Mountain Trolls," Derek heard Stiles exclaim over _Mad World_ as he walked on shaky legs to the front door.

As he pulled the door shut, he could hear the Sheriff say, far more cheerfully than was warranted, "Good job, son. Pretty sure you broke the Hale boy. Now go put away that erection."

" _Daaaaad._ "

**Author's Note:**

> There is a smidge more in the first comment thread. Because first commenter gets bonus fic 'round these parts.


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